Dei Pixies vi ho già parlato in precedenza per un'altra canzone molto bella,"Velouria",e oggi invece vi piazzo un'altra canzone che è troppo troppo troppo bella e si tratta di "Where is my mind" che è stata anche utilizzata come colonna sonora del film strafamoso che appare nel video^^ vi consiglio la versione fatta da Zombina e The Skeletones molto molto cupa.
Dopo il jump il testo originale e quello tradotto dalla mia personcina.
With your feet on the air and your head on the ground
Try this trip and spin it, yeah
Your head'll collapse
If there's nothing in it
And you'll ask yourself

Where is my mind
Where is my mind
Where is my mind

Way out in the water
See it swimming

I was swimming in the Carribean
Animals were hiding behind the rock
Except the little fish
But they told me to swim
Is to try to talk to me, coy coy

Where is my mind
Where is my mind
Where is my mind

Way out in the water
See it swimmin'

With your feet on the air and your head on the ground
Try this trip and spin it, yeah
Your head'll collapse
If there's nothing in it
And you'll ask yourself

Where is my mind
Where is my mind
Where is my mind

Way out in the water
See it swimmin'

Traduzione

Con i piedi per aria e la testa a terra
prova questo viaggio e giralo
la tua testa crollerà
se non c'è niente dentro
e ti chiederai

Dov'è la mia testa
Dov'è la mia testa
Dov'è la mia testa

Esce dall'acqua
Guardala nuotare

Stavo nuotando nel mare dei Caraibi
Gli animali si nascondevano dietro la roccia
tranne un piccolo pesce
Ma mi hanno detto di nuotare
stà cercando di parlarmi,timido timido

Dov'è la mia testa
Dov'è la mia testa
Dov'è la mia testa

Esce dall'acqua
Guardala nuotare

Con i piedi per aria e la testa a terra
prova questo viaggio e giralo
la tua testa crollerà
se non c'è niente dentro
e ti chiederai

Dov'è la mia testa
Dov'è la mia testa
Dov'è la mia testa

Esce dall'acqua
Guardala nuotare

Oh - stop

With your feet in the air and your head on the ground
Try this trick and spin it, yeah
Your head will collapse
But there's nothing in it
And you'll ask yourself

Where is my mind [3x]

Way out in the water
See it swimmin'

I was swimmin' in the Caribbean
Animals were hiding behind the rocks
Except the little fish
But they told me, he swears
Tryin' to talk to me, coy koi.

Where is my mind [3x]

Way out in the water
See it swimmin' ?

With your feet in the air and your head on the ground
Try this trick and spin it, yeah
Your head will collapse
If there's nothing in it
And you'll ask yourself

Where is my mind [3x]

Oh
With your feet in the air and your head on the ground
Oh
Try this trick and spin it, yeah
Oh
Oh

Dashboard è stato uno dei singoli indie  di maggiore successo del 2007. Gli americani Modest Mouse (il cui nome è tratto da un passo di un racconto di Virginia Woolf), già attivi dalla metà degli anni 90', si rifacevano ai classici del rock alternativo del periodo (Pixies, Built to Spill e Pavement sono le coordinate principali), articolando un sound tipicamente "chitarristico" con jam strumentali sghembe e immerse nel caos. Tuttavia, solo alla metà degli anni 2000, dopo la firma con la Sony, è arrivato il successo commerciale, grazie alla forza trainante dei singoli e all'indiscusso carisma del leader Isaac Brock, che ogni tanto appare sul palco con una benda da pirata (a richiamare il set da marinai e pirati del video).

Dashboard mostra il lato tipicamente gioviale e barocco dei Modest Mouse, con una marcetta costruita attorno ai trascinanti intrecci strumentali e al duetto tra le chitarre funkeggianti e i fiati. Ian Brock emerge col suo tono a metà tra il lamentoso e l'irriverente, raccontando con leggerezza le disavventure di una gita fuori porto, in cui la macchina cade pezzo dopo pezzo, ma alla fine ci si può consolare perché "it wasn't quite as bad as" Oh it would've been, could've been worse than you would ever know" . Insomma poteva andare peggio.

Link: sito web, testo di Dashboard,

Size Medium
$7 + $3 shipping

This is Vital Source, a local publication that I've been harassing gently suggesting they do an article on Teecycle. (They feature Dwellephant, which is pretty cool.) So far, I've been ignored. I don't blame them. I'd ignore me too. But I'd never ignore the legion that is the teecycle fandom.

Go to the Vital Source contact page and encourage them to extend their coverage of Teecycle. Hey look! There's even a letter template for you:

Subject: Teecycle is the Shizzz!

Dear Vital Source Editor:

You should totally write an article on Teecycle. They sell certified pre-loved t-shirts, and donate a buck from each to restoring urban rivers in Milwaukee. You can even sign up for daily updates in your inbox. (They call it the Used-letter. Get it?!) They sells shirts like the Death to the Pixies t-shirt, and it's super easy to search by tags, like bands or animals. In conclusion, Teecycle is pretty sweet. I'm kinda tipsy on Sam Adams right now!

Kthanksbye!

(Your name here)

$1 of the sale of this teecycle shirt is donated to the River Revitalization Foundation to restore urban river trails and waterways.

"Sábados Circulares"

,dejando en claro que este es necesariamente un titulo robado,

me cuelgo unos cuantos videos de una de mis bandas preferidas.

Y me pregunto :

Se puede ser leyenda con menos de cien canciones y un puñado de discos?

Claro que si.

Solo tenes que llamarte Francis Black, tener unos buenos compinches, letras simples y  una super banda llamada Pixies.

Tambien es posible que te ayude que te elijan la cancion como soundtrack de una pelicula de culto como Fight Club, o llegado el caso que una super banda de estos tiempos, como Placebo, se le ocurra versionar tus canciones.

Que se yo.

Where is my mind ?

Con los pies en el aire y tu cabeza en el suelo

Intenta este truco y gira

Tu cabeza colapsará si no hay nada alli

Y te preguntaras:

Donde esta mi menta?

Donde esta mi mente?

Donde esta mi mente?

Donde esta mi mente?

Perdida en el agua, mírala nadar.

O si te da el pulso, hacer una buena edicion de imagenes sexies y divertidas y lograr ser uno de los videos más vistos en la rutilante historia de Youtube, aprovechando la leyenda de Francis y los Pixies.

H E Y !

Hey, he intentado encontrarte

Hey

Debe ser el Diablo entre nosotros

O putas en mi cabeza

Putas a mi puerta

Putas en mi cama

Pero hey !

Donde

Has estado?

Si te vas seguro me muero

Esamos encadenados.

Huy!, le dijo el hombre a la dama

Huy!, le dijo la dama al hombre que adoraba

Y las putas a coro

Dale, uh, esta bien

Y Mary, no estas cansada de esto?

Uh

Es

El sonido

Que la madre hace cuando el bebe se cae

Estamos encadenados.

Es claro que tambien te ayudaría ser capaza de componer una canción tan simple como bella como la que sigue a continuación.

Wave of Mutilation

Deja de resistir, diciendome adios

Conduzco mi auto al oceano

Pensas que estoy muerto, pero navegaré

Sobre una ola de mutilación

Ola de mutilación

Ola, ola

Bese las sirenas, monte sobre El Niño

Camine las arenas con los crustaceos

Pude llegar hasta Mariana

Sobre una ola de mutilación

Ola de mutilación

Ola,ola.

Llegado el caso podes tomar inspiración de Dali y de Buñuel, y componer un clásico absoluto como Debaser.

No es fácil, y no dije que lo fuera, pero se puede intentar.

La última rola de este mini-show es entonces:

Debaser

Me dierón una pelicula

Que quiero que conozcas

Bolas de ojos cortadas

Quiero que veas

Nena tan atractiva

No se de vos

Pero soy un perro andaluz

Quiero crecer

Y convertirme

En un falsificador

Falsificador.

]]> http://bibpop.wordpress.com/?p=179 Fri, 11 Jul 2008 17:26:52 +0000 øyvind http://bibpop.wordpress.com/?p=179 Format: CD
Tittel: Walk it Off
Artist: Tapes 'n Tapes
År: 2008

Salige Pixies og Pavement har vel aldri fått sine verdige arvtagere. Heller ikke Tapes n' Tapes klarer helt å leve opp til arven etter skranglekameratene fra åtti- og nittitallet. Men hvem gjør vel det? Tapes n' Tapes er uansett blant årets mest interessante indieband. Ikke er det fullt så mye skrangel lenger heller, det er et litt mer gnidd og autonomt band vi møter på «Walk It Off» enn det vi traff på den hyggelige debuten «Loon».

Gutta fra Minneapolis har også beveget seg noen skritt videre rent låtskrivermessig siden sist – alt i alt i en positiv retning. De har rett og slett blitt mer melodifokuserte og faste i arrangementsfisken, og for den som gidder å høre etter er det mye å hente ved å gi dette materialet litt tid. En utgivelse for oss som digger melodisk fingerspitzgefhül, anspent indierockattityde og velklingende refrengkunst satt i (et slags) system.

Sjekk tilgjengelighet og reserver denne platen hos Drammensbiblioteket.

Sort of vacation song. Alien visits earth for a holiday but ends up dead in a crate with photographs of it in files. X-files that will be. How could this so great, turn so shit?

YouTube: Motorway to Roswell, audio with photograph

Dopo gli Husker Du, i Mission of Burma sono stati un altro colosso di quel fantastico periodo musicale che l'alternative rock americano anni '80. Rispetto al gruppo di Minneapolis, i Mission of Burma rappresentarono un'ulteriore evoluzione del genere di riferimento - il punk rock - arrivando a destrutturare le forme dell'hardcore in una musica che strizzava l'occhio all'avanguardia e all'elettronica. Il gruppo era un classico trio (Roger Miller alla chitarra, Clint Conley al basso e Peter Prescott alla batteria) a cui si aggiungevano le manipolazioni ai nastri di Martin Swope: il risultato era una musica che riprendeva una ricetta che aveva fatto la fortuna di Huskers e Mats, e che quindi conservava la violenza, la velocità ma anche il melodismo del pop-core, ma si distingueva per le tessiture complesse e gli intrecci strumentali a folle velocità, come nell'intro strumentale di Secrets, autentico diluvio di riff che apre il loro capolavoro Vs. Si tratta di un album che incrocia punk e new wave (soprattutto per i toni cupi), ma in cui possono ritrovarsi frammenti di tanti altri gruppi del periodo, più o meno influenzati dall'album: dai Pixies ai Sonic Youth, dai Nirvana ai Rem.

Trem Two è uno dei vertici dell'album, su cui lo stile chitarristico di Miller emerge con prepotenza: i vulcanici riff di energia pura lasciano il posto a ripetizioni ipnotiche e reminescenze quasi-raga, su cui le manipolazioni di Swope frammentano a poco a poco i rintocchi della chitarra. Il canto si fa soffuso e declamatorio, ma continuamente in tensione e sempre al limite dell'esplosione. Il tono cupo richiama le atmosfere depresse della new-wave. Una dimostrazione di come I Mission of Burma provenissero dal punk rock, ma avessero a disposizione mezzi armonici certamente superiori.

Link: sito ufficiale, testo di Trem two

Considerada um das maiores expoentes do post-rock mundial, a banda escocesa Mogwai lançará, no próximo dia 22, "The Hawk Is Howling", que vem sendo considerado pela imprensa internacional como o álbum mais aguardado do grupo até hoje. Em entrevista exclusiva ao Subsom, o guitarrista Stuart Braithwaite comentou a carreira da banda, o novo disco, as desavenças com a britânica Blur e ainda deu um recado ao presidente republicano George W. Bush, mandando-o ao "inferno".

Bem humorado, o quinteto escocês deu nomes inusitados às dez músicas do novo disco, a exemplo de “I’m Jim Morrison, I’m Dead”, “The Sun Smells Too Loud” e “I Love You, I'm Going to Blow Up Your School”. Essa última, explica Braithwaite, foi retirada de uma história contada pelo baixista Dominic Aitchison. “Ele nos fez jurar que não contaríamos! Não posso dizer o que é, desculpe”, desconversou

Quanto ao reconhecimento mundial que, entre outros parâmetros pode ser medido nas mais de 14 milhões de audições registradas no site Last.fm, o guitarrista diz que deve muito à internet. “Com certeza a rede facilita muito que pessoas dos mais inimagináveis países confiram sons que elas praticamente não ouviriam”, disse.

Quem se depara com a banda encontra rótulos que vão de space-rock, indie rock e noise rock ao mais comentado post-rock (passando por outras denominações com hífen e outros bichos). Braithwaite confessa não gostar muito do termo, que define como sendo “música de rock simples lenta e instrumental”.

“Para ser sincero, eu ouço uma quantidade enorme de tipos diferentes de música, mas dentro do estilo gosto da Explosions In The Sky (banda do Texas). Minhas bandas de rock instrumental favoritas são Black Dice, Growing e Wooden Ships”, contou, definindo o som do Mogwai somente como rock.

Segundo ele, que cresceu ouvindo Sonic Youth, Pixies, Jesus and Mary Chain, My Bloody Valentine e The Cure, o fato da esmagadora maioria das músicas da banda serem instrumentais não tem nenhuma ligação com estilo ou escolha. “É porque não cantamos bem! Ninguém na banda sabe cantar. Essa é a verdadeira razão, incrivelmente”, explica Stuart.

Como era de se esperar – e os fãs agradecem - o novo trabalho virá repleto de músicas sem voz. De acordo com o guitarrista, “The Hawk Is Howling” (Matador, 2008) levou cerca de dois meses para ser gravado e o processo de composição foi feito em quase dois anos, algo comparável ao período de criação do maravilhoso “Rock Action”, de 2001, que levou um ano para ser finalizado.

Seita Mogwai

Conforme conta Braithwaite, os membros do grupo gostam de provocar católicos mais fervorosos com músicas como “Mogwai Fear Satan” e “You Don’t Know Jesus”. “Eu nunca fui religioso, mas os outros caras freqüentaram colégios católicos que devem ter influenciado esses títulos. Eu até começaria uma religião fundamentada no Mogwai, mas só se as pessoas passassem a me venerar e me dessem dinheiro, o que é bem improvável”, brincou.

Questionado se o grupo se importa com o que os fãs pensam de suas músicas, Stuart foi direto: “Não muito. Desde que as pessoas gostem do que fazemos, música é para aproveitar, não para entender. Eu mesmo testo minhas composições nos meus dois cachorros, Princess e Rambo”, contou, rindo.

Ele também lembrou da polêmica que teve com os britânicos do Blur, quando confeccionaram camisas com os dizeres “Blur: Are Shite”, da ocasião em que bradavam “Fuck The Queen”, em plena Londres, e disse que o alvo das críticas atuais é o presidente dos Estados Unidos, George W. Bush. “Ele pode ir para o inferno”, disse.

Empreendedores, os membros da banda mantêm o selo Rock Action Records, sediado em Glasgow, na Escócia, e que lança artistas como Errors, Envy (gravou um ótimo split com a Jesu, recentemente), Cex, Papa M, e outros.

Além dos shows, o grupo gravou a trilha sonora de filmes como A Fonte e 21st Century Portrait. A experiência, segundo Stuart, não deve ser repetida esse ano. “Por enquanto não, a última vez que nos metemos com filmes não fomos pagos. Foi bastante ruim. O nome do filme é Paraíso Travel”, disse.

Quanto ao Brasil, Braithwaite disse não ter nada agendado e nem em vias de marcação, mas comentou que adorou a turnê de 2002, do álbum Rock Action, quando tocaram em São Paulo. Ele citou, no entanto, que o produtor da Rock Action Records James Orr Complex vive na capital paulista e pode viabilizar alguma apresentação futuramente.

“O País de vocês foi maravilhoso conosco. Diria até que os times de futebol brasileiros poderiam arrancar um empate com o Glasgow Celtics (da Escócia, país da banda) se os nossos jogadores estivessem cansados”, brincou.

'Silver,' on Rock Band, on Expert, on the drums, is quite possibly one of the easiest songs in the game.  And, for my efforts, I got 100% on the song.  And the first 100% you get on expert comes with a little chime:

Oh, the torn emotions!  On one hand I was estatic because it's an achievement I've been working hard for, furthering my drumming skills since we got the game.  But... I feel like it's a hollow victory.  I didn't get the achievement from doing the hard work that it suggests!  I will always feel empty with these 10 pts, because it feels like I should have done more to earn them.  Alas, alas.

(But I have to admit... it feels good to have unlocked it, within the confines and rules of acquisition.  So if you're fed up and need to unlock this achievement... go buy Silver.  You, too, will earn the hollow victory that will now plagues my conscience.)

Bah-dum, bah-dum bah-dum bah-dum . . .

Here’s a thing: some of Australia’s departed are choosing what the AP deems “odd” choices for funeral songs. “Odd” as in “Highway to Hell” and “Stairway to Heaven”.

The Evil has a complicated relationship with Australia. On the one hand, he really likes the word “antipodean”. On the other, he is utterly against the Coriolis Effect and all its adherents, millions of whom can be found in Australia. Also, koalas? Not cute, and mean-spirited to boot. And yet young Evil loved his Roos . . .

However, on this issue the Evil is totally with his antipodean mates and raises a toast to those Australians brave enough to go “odd” over “boring”, i.e. hymnal. Best line from a tragically abbreviated article:

Among other less conventional choices were "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" by the Monty Python comedy team, "Ding Dong the Witch is Dead," "Hit the Road Jack," "Another One Bites the Dust" and "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead."

Some Aussie chose “Always Look on the Bright Side”? Brilliant!

With that in mind, Evil would like to offer suggestions to those of you who intend to take on the challenge he described some weeks ago concerning how to dispose of his remains. (The topic of snuff songs was covered in High Fidelity, but not to the Evil’s satisfaction.) As you fly over New Guinea, you should play a medley of the following songs:

“Death of a Disco Dancer”, the Smiths: Love, peace, and harmony? Maybe in the next world.

“If You Don’t Know Me By Now”, Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes: In your face, people who didn’t take the opportunity to delve into the Evil!

“Death or Glory”, the Clash: For there must be a Clash song. One of the Evil’s basic rules of life.

“Already Gone”, the Eagles: In anticipation of never, ever having to hear another fucking Eagles song in the next world.

“Love Stinks”, J. Geils Band: More for the bereaved. This is how you’ll feel when the Evil is gone. Feel free to sob the chorus as you collapse into each others' arms after kicking his body out of the plane and watching the parachute deploy.

“Ed Is Dead”, the Pixies: Black Francis was kind enough to write a song about the Evil, so you should play it. Though he’d really prefer “Debaser”.

And finally:

“Song 2”, Blur: The Evil wants his thousands of worshippers screaming WOOO-HOOOO!!! in unison at his wake, and what can you say? Blur created the world’s finest delivery service for spontaneous woo-hooage.

E tome "Mas vocês tão pedindo na bundinha", ou ainda "Cerol, cerol, cerol, cerol, cerol.....somebody, engata o cerol", e até mesmo, por que não?, "Calma Aline... cal... calma Aline... eu já vou levar...o suco... bebe!!!".

Ou a miséria do título deste pouzt, pedindo pra beesha não esconder. Dá gosto. Dá também pra votar se você achou a miséria "ruim" ou "boa". Tanto faz. Who cares...

Chegando lá, clique em "Top 20", "Lista Completa" ou "Recentes", ou "Envie um Som" para contribuir você mesmo com o elevado padrão de asneiras do site.

Cultura Inglesa, pra que te quero...

Aleléx

.

I don't know how I could've missed it. They arrived in Spain, for God's sake! I had visions of Indiana Jones style adventures in ancient spanish forts - I think there could've been nazis - but clearly I am t3h fule. Where else would our merry band of wreck heads end up on their european jaunt but Ibiza? I mean, where would they be without the distant thrumming bass, the all night bars and dingy alcoves just off the heaving, red lit dancefloor, sweat plop-plopping on their foreheads? It's the young liar's natural habitat, only just as hot outside the clubs and soundtracked not by Sonic Youth or the Pixies, but by Paul Oakenfold and Arsenal football club chants.

And, before I get into this issue's tunes in detail, this is something I feel I have to address.

I have a lovely friend called Roger Larry (he's not really called Roger Larry) who, in the early nineties, would occassionaly go raving on Hasting's Pier. The pier largely hosted jungle events, and, come the weekend, was seething with E ravaged, bebomber-jacketed teens ready to throw down to a manlikeMickeyFinn. There was always something a little weird about these events, and the way they saw inner city - largely black - london culture collide with the more parochial white working class culture of the south coast (for those americans amongst you, imagine a New York hip hop club teleported to deepest, darkest hicksville and you might have some idea of what I mean). Nowhere was this jarring lifestyle clash more evident than the area surrounding the DJ booth which would be prowled by MCs hailing from areas as disparate as the mean streets of Peckham all the way through to the quietest, sleepiest country village imaginable. And there is nothing weirder or more embarassing when you're 17 than watching your nice, middle-english, softly spoken mate adopt a jamaican patois when he's chatting on the mic and the beats are R..RR...RRRRR....RRRRRRRRRROLLLING.

But that was years ago, and it was fun for a lot of people and gave them an outlet and...

I was talking about Roger Larry

Roger Larry was never a Junglist. Roger Larry was a Gabber. I can't be arsed to waste time on a detailed description what gabber is/was - for those without a clue, just click the link. But if you can't be bothered, I suppose I could accurately describe it as the hardest type of dance music going in the mid nineties. The beat was like a drill, there was often screaming, the tunes were called things like 'Fucking Hostile' and in Germany it sometimes had far right connotations - you get the idea. People generally hated gabber and inevitably its fans were, although in a minority, slavishly loyal to the scene. You could travel the gabber party circuit country-wide and you'd literally run into the same crowd at every event - the guy with the massive hair spike erupting from his forehead, pounding his head into the speakers, or the creepy girl in the ballerina outfit pirouetting gracefully in the centre of the dancefloor.....or Roger Larry. Inspite of the fact that Roger Larry went on to develop a taste for Dido, in his teens he was as Gabber as they come, and that meant wherever he went he'd be carrying his walkman, his massive headphones and a selection of Lenny Dee mix tapes. Needless to say he despised jungle and, when the coast was clear, he utilised every opportunity to snatch the latest Dreamscape mix out of the stereo and replace it with his vicious, unrelenting noise.

So it was fairly strange that he should follow our mutual friend Little Toby down to the pier as often as he did.

Until you understand exactly what he was doing in that writhing throng of emaciated tweens.

Roger would stand in the middle of the crowd, headphones rammed down over his ears, dancing to his own drum. THE GABBER DRUM. No, it didn't matter that the music pounding out of the speakers was loud enough to collapse your rib-cage, or that, you know, he looked pretty weird, all that mattered was that, as long as Lenny was along for the ride, any environment could be transformed into gabber heaven. And what a opportunity to proselytize! Whenever some confused pill-head would enquire of him, 'just what the fuck are you doing, mate?', Roger Larry would gently lower his headphones onto the questioner's head and whack the volume up to full blast. I'm sure this was a fairly upsetting experience for many people, but what did it matter? If you force it to, a jungle rave can be its gabber opposite. It's not what it wants to be that's important but just how loud and inventive the author's voice/stereo is.

Which brings me breathlessly back to David Lapham and Young Liars 5.

Dave clearly doesn't give a fuck for Oakenfold and he's nabbed Roger Larry's walkman for a few hours, firmly lodged in his own little temporary autonomous zone and bellowing a rock 'n' roll 'La La La! I CAN'T HEAR YOU!!!' into the ibizan night. The actual sound of San Antonio is conspicuously absent from this month's track list and, although understandable given his selections so far, it does feel a mite bit weird and incongruous. Guitars do not feature prominently in the Ibizan club scene and surely there were some other options apart from Thurston Moore and Frank Black? There's enough punky dance crossover these days to ensure that an audial sea-change wouldn't be too jarring. Crystal Castles? Heck, even early Peaches.

Have a listen:

But then I suppose he would have had to justify the tunes in all those pesky other ways. How, apart from the atmosphere they conjure, they fit with the story he's trying to tell - what they say about it, etc. All that stuff. No, to be honest I like that Lapham's pulling a Larry - it's bold and two-fingered - and by golly the songs he's picked work so, so well with the issue and the events therein.

And how fucking great are the Pixies and the Youth, anyway?

Very fucking great.

(Sorry for squashing you, Kim and Frank)

So issue 5 opens with Danny splayed out on an armchair (later he will move onto a bed and cheap wine), snivelling like a grizzly 4 year old because, while he slept, Sadie up and left their hotel room in search of a party, a few fights and something more (?), with a deeply pissed off Runco trying to motivate him to get up and find her because she's tasty in a tussle and they'll need her for the heist they're going to pull. Yes, it seems 'retrieving' the painting - which it now turns out is adorning the wall of a rich man's medieval fortress - might be more complicated than previously assumed (although, come on, it was fairly self-evident that Runco was full of shit on that score anyway). And the whole thing swoops in on the skeletal flappers of the Pixies' excellent Bone Machine.

Now Bone Machine isn't my favourite tune on the album - that would have to be Number 13 Baby - but Dolittle contains absolutely no filler as far as I'm concerned, so it's pretty awesome nonetheless. And, just in case you didn't hear me the first time, for this issue it's very apt indeed. First of all the lyrics:

'And you're going to the beach all day
You're so pretty when you're unfaithful to me
You're so pretty when you're unfaithful to me'

Who could that be referring to, I wonder.

Danny's having conniptions because he's convinced Sadie, after coming on to the entire beach upoun their arrival, must be out there experiencing some hardcore mediterranean willy, something which drives him wild with rage and sorrow on the one hand, but, masochist that he is, after spending so many years lusting after her from the sidelines, must also contain a powerful sexual charge for him too. It's never explicitly stated in the text but it's there in Bone Machine's lyrics and the masturbatory way he replays the fear again and again to himself, cherishing it, savouring it - forever flagellating himself for his Doc Frankenstein like hold over *his creation* (oh, yeah, it turns out Danny definitely did shoot Sadie to cover up a murder she commited) but never prepared to leave his self pity on the shelf and go out and find his mentally ill friend.

To Danny, Sadie is, literally, a bone machine. Since they started fucking, she's been reduced, in his torrid imagination, to little more than a sexbot. Danny assumes her repititious, slightly queasy making, obsession with dancing and endless rounds of action and violence must extend to sex. It's an obvious - and logical - conclusion to arrive at, 'But', the reader can't help musing, 'perhaps it shouldn't be Danny's primary concern' - her health and safety must take precendence, surely? Oh, well, I guess it's easy to see why, in the Young Liar's collective unconsious, her selfhood's been relegated to the status of a wind-up toy, but from an outsider's POV it's still fairly unpleasant.

Bone Machine may also, rather cruelly, nod to Annie X and her wiry, eating disordered frame, but there's another couple of grisly possibilities....

Because Danny and the rest aren't alone on the island.

Midgets are, in this sorry world, often shorthand for all things humourous and other, and Pinkerton Maxim is no exception. In his case, though, there's a caveat. He makes skeletons of people. Think Yoda dressed in a matador's outfit (hey! it's Spain!) turned to evil and you've got it right there. The guy is a veritable leaping, whirling, knife and teeth laden mini vortex of destruction. And this week he's fully loaded with AA batteries and ready to destroy. So, after a quick phonecall from Annie X who's been informed by Runco of the reward for finding Sadie, that's exactly what he does.

To Danny's bone machine.

Oh yes, the disgusting riffs on the title just keep on coming and finally resolve themselves in this one last dreadful iteration. Danny's cock, severed, broken - engine kaput - while he lies bleeding out on the crimescene of his latest tool for mental self harm, the bed upoun which he and Ceecee, until they were so brutally interrupted, have been fucking. With the annhilation of Mr Johnson, We get the feeling that Danny's need to be punished has at last been well and truly fulfilled. Perhaps now that he's been physically emasculated, he can put aside all the emotional emasculation he's been lovingly subjecting himself to and get on with being a grown up. Yep, there's always a silver lining.

One covered in blood, detumescing on the floor.

But on the other hand, he could just remain the arsehole we know and love - time will tell. The great thing about David Lapham is you can never be sure his characters will *learn* or *grow* as a result of their experiences. Young Liars isn't Ricky Lake, and for those who are paying attention it's telling that Danny's narration, which is retrospective, is firm on the point that it's the Ceecee fucking that's the really bad thing, not his perceived punishment, and I think Dave might be indicating that, even years after the event (or whatever time zone the narrator's voice is emanating from), Danny's still the same guilt ridden teenager he's always been. Always setting up his moral digressions as the most important thing in the room - always allowing his need to be spanked to eclipse everything else, even when there are really bad things happening to the other people around him.

Or maybe he just feels genuinely bad because fucking your ostensible girlfriend's best pal when she's out plane surfing (which at the time of fucking and bone machine severing Sadie actually is) is always a shit idea.

Who can tell?

SHAKING HELL!

Hooray! It's Sonic Youth! At night!

Picture quality aside, I think the obvious sex/death connotations of both songs should be ringing out. Thurston Moore's mantric refrain of 'Shake off your flesh, shake off your flesh...' clearly intimates not just a kind of saucy soul intimacy, but also, well, the suggestion that you leave your skin at the badroom door. Or on the floor. Or wherever else Senior Maxim feels is appropriate. The song captures the two polarities that seethe away behind the scenes of the comic: the everpresent threat of violence and the sexy, sexy rock music, screwing and adventure - the (wannabe) rock star's royal road of self destruction. Trust me, I know a few of these guys, and I wouldn't want to be any of them. Sure, it's thrilling to peruse the hyperreal exploits of the band from a distance - at parties on the odd lost Saturday night and in comics - but the suicidal impulse that drives our modern day dionyses from one gargantuan line of coke to the next is, in the long run, fucking awful and rubbish. I think this is something Lapham understands, and, like so many of us, even though he's infatuated enough with the myth to want to keep perpetuating it, he's acutely aware of the dreadful spaces people arrive at when they get locked inside the glamour/story. Young Liars increasingly feels like a catalogue of painful, druggy regret (could Mr. Lapham identify with Danny more than we know?) - the retrospective overview of a guy who's settled down with a family, but can't help turning his wilder days over in his mind, trying to figure out if they were brilliant, or if they're just a cautionary tale for pill popping 16 year olds obsessed with Joy Division. You can almost hear him chuckling knowingly to himself as he writes the script, shaking his head, wiping his brow with relief, because thank fuck those days are gone. Young Liars is undoubtedly a metaphor for the less obviously hair-raising but nevertheless deeply debauched lifestyles of mid twenties to mid thirty somethings the western world over and I think this is articulated most clearly in the songs Lapham's chosen, like Shaking Hell, that privilege aural abandon over lyrical content or melody. These aural missives remind us that the conditions the book's describing are, inspite of the exagerated content, just the poetic, widescreen equivalent of the music scene's nihilistic reality. Dancing, chatting bullshit, snorting, dropping until.............

Sorry, it all got a bit personal there, but I think one of the strengths of the comic is its in depth understanding of just how shitty and crazy the flight from the day to day can be. Just so you know, Dave, when I'm feeling awful after a hard night out, I take a lot of perverse solace from your comic. And more than my fair share of laughs too.

As is usual with Young Liars the tunes on the stereo have that edgy, jumpy vibe. Frank Black's vocal is as squeaky and prey-like as ever. Moore's breathless, frightened whispering and the guitar's discordant whines, natch. The music, for all it goodtimeyness, never lets us forget that at the heart of a good rock and roll myth lies trouble and our gang are in trouble deep. It might sound like a good groove to begin with, but just around the corner screaming soul-bedlam lies waiting.

Now, I seriously hope tonight's revelry doesn't wind up with me sharing the same expression as Donny, Sadie's new friend and Ceecee in the wake of the vertically challenged Maxim's onslaught, but you always think you look good until you see the facebook photographs.

Rock on, you pricks.

Y no es que la tipa en cuestión sea un coco, pero tampoco se trataba de subirla al olimpo de las mujeres más bellas del rock. Yo respondí que la rockera más morbosa de la actualidad era mi adorada Juliette Lewis. Que no me cansaba de ver sus vídeos en Youtube y que sus discos no son maravillas, que no descubren nada nuevo en el rock, pero se escuchan bien y me entretienen más que trabajos de oportunistas como Arcade Fire, Maximo Park, Kaiser Chiefs o los Libertines/Babyshambles del subnormal de Pete Doherty.

Luego mencionó a una tal Sharin Foo, de The Raveonettes. No le repliqué. Había escuchado el disco, pero no había visto foto alguna de la tal Sharin. Sólo puedo decir de ella: bien, aceptable. A continuación Amanda Palmer de The Dresden Dolls, Mira Aroyo de Ladytron y Meg White, la tetuda mitad de los White Stripes, hermanísima del genio Jack White.

Salvo con esta última (como podéis comprobar en esta foto, por dos razones obvias), no pude meter baza, no las había visto. Y me parecía una locura la conversación. Entonces empezó la polémica, y pasamos del rock actual a cualquier rockera de la historia. A cada nombre que iba sugiriendo, yo le espetaba otro en la cara.

A Shirley Manson (de Garbage) le esperaba otra pelirroja más perturbadora, Poison Ivy de The Cramps. Cuando mencionó a Nina Persson de los suecos Cardigans, yo le lancé el nombre de la rubia más famosa del punk neoyorkino, Debbie Harry de Blondie. Kate Jackson de The Long Blondes fue la siguiente, a lo que respondí con Joan Jett. Siguió extrambóticamente con Beth Gibbons de Portishead y Kathleen Hanna líder de Le Tigre y antes de Bikini Kill. Mi contraataque fue Gwen Stefani de No Doubt, y la diosa de los 80 Lita Ford, Cherie Currie o cualquiera del resto de las Runaways.

Está claro que mi amigo es un salido. Propuso a Donita Sparks, Siouxsie, PJ Harvey, Courtney Love (¡¡¡¿Courtney Love?!!! Por favoooor!!!!), Sheryl Crow, Christina Rosenvinge, Kim Deal (ex-Pixies, ahora The Breeders), una tal Gwenna de un grupillo llamado The Pipettes…

Me abrumó con un montón de nombres más, de los que ahora sólo recuerdo los que he puesto aquí. Por mi parte surgieron otros tantos, aunque sólo me dio la razón en dos de ellos: Wendy James (de Transvision Vamp) y Grace Slick (de Jefferson Airplane). Entiendo que para gustos están los colores, y la verdad desconocía esta faceta de depravado de mi amigo (¡¡¡¿Courtney Love?!!!, ¡¡¡¿Christina Rosenvinge?!!!), pero me alegra que nos pusiéramos de acuerdo en esos dos nombres. Y que además los pusiéramos en lo más alto de la lista.

Tras media hora de discusión sobre los atributos (no sólo musicales) de cada una, comenzamos a discutir sobre quién debía ser la primera. ¿Grace o Wendy? ¿Wendy o Grace? Lo dejamos en tablas. Esa discusión eran palabras mayores.

I'm so sorry not have have posted recently but you can check out a more regularly update version of the site on my Tumblr page. Bookmark that for more recommended links that I'll be providing here.

Going round at the moment is a trend of listing the favourite albums since your year of birth and I thought I would indulge myself in that one. I'm going to do a movie one too so look out for that.

So, from my birth to now, my favourite records of every completed year thus far. An additional comment: I realise you are only supposed to choose one per year but damn, this was a little too hard for that. As far as my research goes, all are also based on UK release dates.

1984 – The Replacements – Let it Be / Prince – Purple Rain
1985 – Tom Waits – Rain Dogs / The Jesus and Mary Chain - Psychocandy
1986 – The Smiths – The Queen is Dead / Billy Bragg – Talking to the Taxman About Poetry
1987 – Dinosaur Jr – You’re Living All Over Me
1988 – Sonic Youth – Daydream Nation / American Music Club – California / Pixies – Surfer Rosa
1989 – Pixies - Doolittle
1990 – The Replacements – All Shook Down / Fugazi - Repeater
1991 – My Bloody Valentine - Loveless
1992 – REM – Automatic for the People / Nirvana - Nevermind
1993 – Nirvana – In Utero / Liz Phair – Exile in Guyville / Red House Painters – Red House Painters
1994 – Pavement – Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain / Soundgarden - Superunknown
1995 – Radiohead – The Bends
1996 – Stereolab – Emperor Tomato Ketchup / Beck – Odelay / Sleater Kinney – Call the Doctor / Weezer - Pinkerton
1997 – Radiohead – OK Computer / Spiritualized – Ladies and Gentlemen, We Are Floating in Space / Elliott Smith – Either/Or
1998 – Neutral Milk Hotel – In An Aeroplane Over The Sea / Eels – Electro-Shock Blues
1999 – Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy – I See A Darkness / Magnetic Fields – 69 Love Songs / Tom Waits – Mule Variations
2000 – Hamell on Trial – Choochtown / Badly Drawn Boy – The Hour of Bewilderbeast / Godspeed, You Black Emperor - Lift Yr Skinny Fists Like Antennas to Heaven
2001 – Elbow – Asleep at the Back / Sigur Ros – Agaetis Byrjun / The Shins – Oh! Inverted World
2002 – Queens of the Stone Age – Songs for the Deaf / Wilco – Yankee Hotel Foxtrot
2003 – Cat Power – You Are Free / The White Stripes - Elephant
2004 – The Shins – Chutes Too Narrow / Arcade Fire - Funeral
2005 – Sufjan Stevens – Illinoise / The National – Alligator / Mountain Goats – The Sunset Tree
2006 – Tom Waits – Orphans, Brawlers & Bastards / Cat Power – The Greatest
2007 – The Hold Steady – Boys & Girls in America

Hej Hej Hej! Olá! Hello! Hola! Saluton, karaj amikoj!

Finalmente criamos um blog! Nem sei por onde começar.

Talvez pelo começo. Não vou falar quem sou - ainda mais porque isso não importa. O que importa são idéias. Idéias e ação!

Prontos para fazer a revolução?

Não falamos de revolução socialista/comunista/anarquista/capitalista/ o-diabo-a-quatro-ista.

Chega de ismos e istas. Ninguém mais aguenta! Isso é coisa de vovô! Nós somos a nova era! (Não que vovôs não possam ser muito maneiros, surpreendentes e altamente mais jovens que os mais jovens.)

Estamos falando de revolução de nossas consciências, de nossas atitudes, de nosso modo de pensar e de agir!

Ou você pretende deixar o mundo ruir? Porque, se você não fizer nada, é isso que vai acontecer.

O que você vai fazer quando crescer? Não é essa a pergunta capitalista/materialista de sempre?

Então perguntamos: O que você vai fazer AGORA? Hoje? Nesse minuto? Vai ficar aí achatando a bunda na cadeira giratória? Grudado no computador?

Por que não? O computador já provou que é mais forte que a espada.

Desde que usado de maneira sensata.

De volta à pergunta: O que você vai ser quando crescer?

Ô perguntinha diabólica!! Criada para nos "objetizar". Talvez você queira ser uma cadeira? Uma mesa? Um apontador, talvez?   O QUE você quer ser realmente não importa!

A pergunta que deveriam fazer é: QUEM você quer ser quando crescer?

Maria-vai-com-as-outras? Bobo-da-corte? Apenas mais um elo na matrix?  - Ou talvez Cidadão? Pensador? Herói? O próximo presidente da república?

Sejamos TODOS presidentes da república! Esse é o voto pixie.

 Por que não?

Afinal, não está nas nossas mãos mudar o mundo?

MISC.

I saw some of Jakob Dylan's set while I waited for Black Francis...pretty standard folky/countryish rock. I also saw a bit of Yonder Mountain String Band, who I officially hate. But the hippies shore liked 'em.

CONCLUSION

Though there were only three performers that really appealed to me, I think, for a first effort, that 80/35 did a good job filling the bill with bands diverse enough to draw enough differing segments of people to create the great turnout they ultimately had. It seemed from my view that Friday was more of the "alt/indie" lineup and Saturday was more "dirty hippie", but the organizers seemed to know what they were doing booking a jam band and The Roots, as they pulled in the people. Also, unlike the other outdoor festival I've been to (Pitchfork), I could come and go from the premises as I pleased. Which was nice. So, all in all, good job 80/35. Looking forward to next year.

miloprometheus

Overall: There was an overall lack of enthusiasm, in my opinion.  But it's always good for people, myself included, to hear new stuff.  Here's why I think people weren't very excited for the bands (excluding PCC):  Nobody, except for about ten people total, walked over and held a spot for Black Francis; perhaps people were being polite and I hear there was excitement right in front of the stage, but a lot of the time people didn't cheer for the FL until after he said, "Thank you;" during the FL, the people in front of me did not move once; the FL played a lot of recognizable singles, but the reception for each song was pretty much the same; the person behind me was more concerned about complaining how he didn't have weed and how he just came to get high off of someone else's weed.  Yeah, I like going to concerts where people are really excited and don't stand the entire time w/ their hands folded or in their pockets...

I only saw five bands perform...

Andrew Bird: I think this was my favorite performance of the the entire festival. I have been wanting to give him a listen for awhile and his performance was a good reminder to do so. I think, with the exception of indie kids and some out-of-towners, nobody knew he existed before Friday evening.

Flaming Lips: Fuck Bush. Fuck this war. Am I the only one getting tired of hearing this everywhere from MTV to the anarchist's hat at the bus stop? It is the general consensus that America does say, "Fuck Bush and Fuck this War," so can't we go beyond spreading the word that has already been spread and focus on the next election? Anyway....the Flaming Lips are known for their crazy, over-the-top, party-style performances. Is it just me or did it seem like we got a slightly abbreviated performance? With the naked painted ladies, skull costume and psychdelic colors, I was mostly reminded of a Beavis and Butt-head dream sequence, which isn't bad, but who wants a dog when you can have a puppy? Maybe I would have enjoyed this more had a pair of giants not been standing right in front of me.

Jakob Dylan

Black Francis: I went to see Black Francis hoping for the Pixes, or even Frank Black. :( It still was thrilling to see a member of one of my favorite bands perform though.

Poison Control Center: This was the most fun performance. Their loyal fans love them, so the energy is great!

Food: I ordered chicken nachos and there were six-inch pieces of chicken on them, which made them impossible to eat without sitting at a table with a fork and knife. Also, they put shredded cheese on top of pump cheese, ew! I wish I could have found the regular nachos you get at ballparks or movie theaters. OH well, I had some delicious Thai Food afterwards.

Drink: The beer was cheap and the one with the one with the horse was decent. The water was cheap too, but the vendor was overly aggressive when it came to tipping!

Conclusion: I definitely have to commend the committee/people that made this happen because it was quite the feat. Good luck next year!

ninjagarden

This one could have easily been called Real Women eat meat, or Howard Hughes tiptoes through the germ laden wastelands.

Yesterday, I spent the day at the hospital. It was one of the best days I've had in ages. The Elder of the tribe  had a body part replaced. Nothing too extreme like a heart or a soul. Just a knee. Stretch invited me along on a visit to the hospital, and in the same way some parents make deals with children ("If you're good at Auntie Martha's, We'll stop for ice cream on the way home"), she made a deal with me "you can take my laptop, I have a wireless card.

Yes, sometimes it doesn't take much to lure me, my darlings.

That was enough to change my whole day's plans. I'm not good with hospitals, but who is? This particular hospital was the place my grandma smiled, closed her eyes and pointed 'up' ...and then she was gone. daVinci's John The Baptist reminds me of her peace in that last moment. In addition to that sad, sour taste, I'm an extreme germaphobe. Extreme being an understatement. But there were hotspots and what kind of woman can ignore a hotspot?
So, I marched through the lobby of the wasteland and into the elevator, all the while trying not to breathe deeply because I could nearly see the legions of germs looming all round me. Inside of this particular elevator was a variety of health related signs & posters. One in particular caught my eye. A white card with tiny faded ladybugs all over and the words "It Bugs Me When You Touch Me With Unclean Hands". If there's ever been a quote for me, this was certainly it. I immediately went to work trying to pull the card out of the clear plastic holder, but on the third floor, we stopped and a handful of people crowded in around us. When I got off at the fourth, I was certain that ladybug health sign would be mine by the end of the day.

The Elder was doing fine, just as I suspected she would be. Nothing much can keep a woman from this tribe down. For example, after 38 hours of labor, I gave birth to my Magnum Opus, and then within two hours, I had a shower and did my makeup and was ready to go home. I must admit that the labor was not at all-the typical push, push screaming exorcism you see on television. No, mine was more akin to the Queen Maya giving birth to Buddha, without the decorated palanquin and scented flowers. So, 24 hours after having a piece of plastic inserted to replace her worn, sad knee, she was walking. The nurses were amazed. I was half expecting her to take the steps to the first floor and take over as head cook in the cafeteria; Because that's another thing the women of this tribe do well: we can cook like no tomorrow.  I'm still certain that Paula Dean is my long lost aunt.

Of course, she was in pain, so they were keeping her pumped with a morphine drip. I won't get into my Elizabeth Taylor love of all things that kill pain, but I will say that I'd have loved just a smidgen of that drip. Of course when I asked for it, I got the same expression I've gotten for the last hundred years or so of my tribal captivity: a straight-line stern expression. So no morphine for me, but that was ok, because I had my lovely hotspot, right?

After the initial greetings, I went to work setting up my workstation; I used that snazzy little bedside-table all hospital rooms have and a comfy reclining chair; And  when I did a search for wireless connections, I was plunged into the velvety folds of a deep orgasmic heaven! [you think that was a bit too discriptive???]There were about 12 or so to choose from! This was as good as a thick deck of Thousands wrapped in those lovely orange paper bands with the bold $1,000 or $5,000 stamped upon it.  Until yesterday, I had truly forgotten the days of internet that wasn't powered by one-legged hamsters in a rusty wheel. I mean the pages actually loaded in less than 5 minutes, in less than 5 seconds, this was good, really really good.

Afterwards I would have definitely needed a cigarette if I were a smoker. I spent the first hour or so answering emails like a wallflower, too timid to get out there and shake what my momma gave me. Then N. casually says in his best parent voice "Mom, why not download, you can do emails later". So download I did! And I was actually able to watch a ton of youtube things I'd been looking for forever. Nothing juvenile like the bouncing baby video, we're talking Peter Murphy's You're So Close video, which for some reason wasn't included in the video collection I got for my birthday eight years ago. I didn't want to leave, and I didn't want to share with N, but after a few brother-sister like quarrels [because yes, I am indeed that immature], I handed the laptop over to him and decided to explore the wasteland.

Now, hands up-any of you who knew I couldn't do something as simple as visit a patient without finding a tale. Stretch and I decided to wonder down to the cafeteria to find something to fuel N while he was downloading 99% of any downloadable material on the web. I figured this was the perfect time to grab my unclean hands poster, but of course there were a group of nurses stepping in, so I figured I'd take the stairs. Writers, as you know are lazy critters. we spend so much time using our brain juice, that we exhaust our bodies completely, making it impossible to do very many physical things. I said very many-not all. But exercise is definitely low on our to do list, usually. Plus I knew within a matter of hours I would be sinning big time, so i needed to do something to put a good word in for my indulgent little soul.

Have you noticed that all cafeterias smell the same? Hospitals, schools-even church dinners from when I was 9, they all carry the scented promise that you may find something very tasty, like roast beef with mashed potatoes and gravy all over everything else to make it edible. Usually, this promise is broken and you end up with something vile like broccoli and cheese instead. So we followed the aroma, with Stretch about 10 steps ahead, because as I mentioned in the Flip Flop post, she's starved herself since last year, and she's becoming real hungry these days. I swear she sizes me up like a cannibal sometimes. I quickened my pace to catch up and was insanely disppointed when I turned the corner. The cafeteria was no more than a wall, two walls of vending machines and a tiny microwave. There were 10 tables or so, and at least 6 of those were crowded with little cliques of nurses and doctors, all giggling and all eating microwaved ick. This made me feel sorry for myself because I don't have a clique, nor have I ever, so I'm not sure what I'm missing-[though that little voice inside my head reassures me I'm not missing much]. I had to cash a ten dollar bill into the change machine and was given 10 gold dollars. My immediate thought was 'hey this effing machine's ripped me off for ten bucks and has given me chuckie cheese game tokens instead! Then I realized that they were actually gold dollars. Forgive me, I'm slow at times and I hate coins of any sort-even dollar coins. The selection in the wall of vending machines was lame, barbecue this & that and meat salads of all sorts. Finally I settled on turkey on whole grain bread-[because my 16 year old eats like a healthy 60 year old]. then I made my way back to the elevator, planning my poster theft. But it was lunch time, so the elevators were packed with food carts. I took the hellish stairs instead, again as a little pre-repentance for my future indulgences.
 And indulge I did.

About an hour later, Stretch and I drove to the nearest Burger King. Why? Because REAL Women Eat Meat. (and you thought that was just a snarky comment on Jessica Simpson's t-shirt didn't you?) I was a vegeterian for 9 years or so, off and on, but I'm a carnivore at heart. I loathe the idea of pork, because I was raised on a farm full of the creatures. And I'm advising you to NEVER eat a pig-EVER. But Perhaps I'm biased; Blame it on my "silence of the Pigs" experiences...Still, I can't stand the thought of it-not even when the Elder does one of her southern breakfasts. Beef is another story. Sometimes my iron count gets a bit low, and I'm pretty sure I could easily drop a cow and drain it dry within seconds..So, yes-I had a burger, not just any burger, but a big ol' burger with extra onion and extra lettuce and even extra mayo-which is very strange because I loathe mayo [I have an issue with eggs-think about eggs for a sec.Nasty]. So Stretch and I indulged like mofos before returning to the wasteland.

On our way up to the hospital yesterday morning, Stretch had assured me that there would be no patients on the fourth floor other than orthapedic patients. And I believed her because i wanted to. Stretch was wrong. As I walked by the doors, i did my best to look ahead and to not peek into the rooms. It didn't work, because just like at a  car crash scene, I had to peek. I saw things as shocking as my first Egyptian mummy exhibit years ago. I'm certain some poor souls had expired days, maybe weeks ago. And to top it off, a psych patient had made his way somehow from the top floor and was roaming around complaining about taxes to invisble people. He was wearing a blue velvet robe, [perhaps his mother's?] and a yellow sun visor. Of course since Like attracts Like, he ran up to me grinning: "what do yo think of the way they waste our tax  money here?" Since I don't pay taxes,  I just smiled politely and said,"To be honest, I don't really care, Doll" Perhaps being called doll made his day, because he escorted me all the way back to the Elder's room and stood there grinning until I closed the door in his face. I don't like being so rude, but it was my turn on the laptop so I had no other choice. N and Stretch went video game shopping, while I downloaded the rest of Eric's music. It takes nearly 5 hours or so to get one of his songs at home,but I got all of them in a few brief moments. Did I mention that I really didn't want to leave? N and I even tried to think up tiny reasons to be hospitalized so we could keep downloading. He suggested he have his toenails removed, but I had to say NO to that one.

The Elder was snoring away on her morphine cloud, and I indulged even more(Hershey with almonds and an endless supply of soda) while I typed away. Occasionally nurses would step in and give me a funny look, and in response I'd give them my "stop looking at me, I'm someone important doing something important," That look worked.

Finally, it was time to go, and I reluctantly packed up the laptop and gave the elder goodbye hugs. She actually apologized for not being very good company. I wanted to say "No actually you were perfect company because you slept the entire time and eliminated the need for forced conversation" Instead, I just smiled and whispered '' Oh, that's ok". I was then off to the elevator to claim my poster. On the walk to the elevator, Stretch dared me, even double dog dared me to steal the poster, but alas it was not to be. In my rushed state (I fail at doing anything successfully while being rushed), I ripped the ladybug poster in half while tearing it away from the plastic cover. I was gutted, as D always says.

On the way home, we listened to a mix cd I recently made-mostly Pixies because the Pixies seem to keep coming up, don't they?The windows were down and the air kept stealing my breath, and I didn't mind because I like giving up control and feeling that alive. The music was perfect,. the computer was stuffed full of goodies, Hell- I was stuffed full of goodies, AND I picked up a bottle of awesome nail polish ("black rouge") It's black, (and now that the Hollywood creeps are finished with black, I have reclaimed it once again as my own). Black with red glitter, so in the light it reflects a deep red. It's gorgeous! So there's a day in my life-since I keep hearing that I don't do that sort of thing here enough.

Before I go, I want you to have a look at Eric's blog. He's my music/spoken word partner and he makes me sound loads better in some of the pieces he's played around with than I do in what you've heard so far. Before long, I'll be adding some links so you can hear the incredible music he's added to my words. He even did something great with my "Burn" excerpt. So there. Now I have two links: safetycopy and Eric. If you want to be linked, then just say so.

AND I've added a few things for you, because tomorrow, the clan is blowing up their cash-er  fireworks, and I'll be busy tying the hobbit to his rocket and tempting Stretch to eat something-not to mention the Elder herself is coming home to grill more meat for the oh-so-effing patriotic event. God bless grilled cow, and I'll see you in about 24 hours with another day in my life, perhaps. Your wicked carnivore ~13
darklucia13@yahoo.com

Not one, but two of my own soundtrack songs! So listen to these-loudly, dance like crazy and think of me or something else as pleasantly sweet.

 AND don't do anything stupid like driving while intoxicated.

Lucia's soundtrack song 2
You don't need the lyrics for song 2, trust me
Lucia's soundtrack song 3
Lyrics for song 3

P.s. I'm please you enjoyed song 1

I will see you there if you aren't an idiot. But you probably are. So I expect to see a slim crowd.

-wg

This is one of the few albums that blew my mind. I mean, it absolutely left me speechless. From the opening of "Debaser" to the closing og "Gouge Away" I was absolutely riveted. When it was finished I got up, walked over to the CD-player, and pressed play to hear it again. Almost as good the second time around. Absolutely fantastic and unforgettable.

For me it is a masterpiece, not only from the lyrics - which allows me to namedrop Salvador Dali and pals - or the bass, or the guitar, or even just the noise. It is a tapestry of sound that predates grunge by so many years it's not even funny. Black Francis doesn't sound like any other singer, the music isn't complicated, which doesn't mean it can't be complex and interwoven.

It contains one of my absolute favorite songs of all time - No. 13 Baby  (what, you thought "Here Comes Your Man"?) - and for all lovers of not-so-mainstream this is an absolute treat of structured insanity. Listen to the lyrics, then listen to the bass, then listen to the guitar, then listen to it all. Perfection.

All in all it is one of the most exciting experiences I have ever had, and I can recommend this album to all others, even if you just get one fifth of what I got from it. At number 100, "Doolittle" by the Pixies.

If you like, you can get this from amazon.com: DOOLITTLE. Or any other place that sells quality music.